


Spring after Winter

by StarSpray



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:16:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7577302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amarie visits Elwing in her tower by the sea</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring after Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tolkien Femslash Bingo prompts:  
> Story Elements N19 - Violets  
> Emotions N22 - Kindness

The wind off the sea had a bite to it; Amarië shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, as she guided her horse up the twisting path. On one side an incline not quite steep enough to be called a cliff ran down to the crashing waves, and on the other a gentler slope led farther into the hills. The path, once well-traveled, was now overgrown and crumbling in places.

Finally, she came to a place wide enough for her horse to turn around, and dismounted. “I’m sorry, my friend,” she said to her mare, patting her on the back. “They warned me, but I didn’t listen.” It was no path for a horse, the Teleri fisherman she’d met on the beach had told her. It was barely a path for a person. “Go back to Alqualondë and wait for me.” The mare snorted and nudged her shoulder affectionately before turning to head back down the path.

Amarië picked her way carefully over the scattered rocks and exposed roots that snaked across the path. She had to duck beneath low-hanging branches, and twice had to stop to carefully free her cloak from brambles.

But finally, she came to the tower that stood looking out over the sea. Here the path split, one way zig-zagging down to an inlet with a beach of white sand, and a lonely ship anchored out in the water. Amarië paused to gaze at it—she had never seen Vingilótë before. From where she stood she could hear the slap of water against the hull, and the faint creak of wood as it bobbed gently on the waves. The sails had been taken down, and it appeared lifeless in a way she’d never seen in a ship before—but then, the ships of the Teleri did not outlive their captains.

The other path led to the tower itself, standing atop cliffs overlooking the sea, well above the water. Birds whirled about the top; Amarië had seen them from farther down the coast, and at first had mistaken them for a wreath of smoke or clouds. But the fisherman she’d met had shaken his head, sadness heavy on his shoulders. His daughter had told Amarië, “They are birds—sea birds and songbirds, and other kinds, too. They are the only visitors the Lady Elwing has had in many years.”

“Why?” Amarië had asked. “Why does no one visit her?”

“We used to,” the fisherman’s daughter had sighed. “Or at least we tried. After Lord Eärendil…” She trailed off, shrugging helplessly. “We take her food and things, leave them on the beach. She must come fetch them once we’re gone, because we come back to empty baskets, but we never see her.”

Amarië couldn’t remember what had made her think to visit Elwing in the first place. She didn’t think it had been anything in particular, only a realization that she’d not seen Elwing in a very long time, and when she mentioned it, no one else could recall seeing her recently either. It seemed wrong that someone should be left so long in grief and loneliness, even if it was her own choice—and Amarië missed her; when Elwing had visited Valmar in the past, with Eärendil, they had spent many hours talking and singing together.

As Amarië approached the tower she found violets growing everywhere. Once they had been part of neatly tended beds lining the path, but now they spread wildly over the lawn, mingling with daffodils and snowdrops. Their fragrance filled the air, a sweet counterpoint to the briny sea smell off the breeze. On a whim, Amarië picked a bouquet, thinking that Elwing must be fond of violets, even though this lawn had not been tended properly in a long time.

Nearer the tower grew rosemary and lavender, but it was too early for the lavender to bloom, and wisteria vines twined with ivy up the tower’s pale walls. Amarië added a few sprigs of rosemary to her bouquet, and some cool mint she found near the door.

There was no answer to her knocking, but she had not really expected one. No doubt Elwing knew she was there, thanks to the keen eyes of her birds, even if they did not know who Amarië was. Maybe the fact that she was unfamiliar would stir a response, pique Elwing’s curiosity.

After several minutes, a bird circled down from atop the tower and alighted on a nearby rock. It was a seabird of some kind, with glossy white and grey plumage, though not one Amarië could name. As it regarded her with sharp black eyes, she bowed. “I am Amarië of the Vanyar,” she said. “Once I was a friend to your mistress. Will you bear her my greetings? I should like to see and speak with her again.”

The bird did not move except to smooth a feather on its wing. Amarië stood patiently, feeling no hurry, though the wind had picked up, and carried now the promise of rain, and clouds had begun to gather overhead.

Finally, the bird hopped to the ground, but before it landed it vanished, and in its place among the violets and snowdrops stood Elwing herself, clad in white and pale grey, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in unkempt waves that, lifting in the breeze, gave her a wild look. Amarië smiled, but Elwing did not return it. “I am not very good company, Amarië of the Vanyar,” she said, voice husky from disuse. The Quenya words stumbled off her tongue as though new-learned—or almost forgotten. “Anyone in Alqualondë could have told you that and saved you the journey.”

“Maybe, if I had stopped to tell anyone where I was going.” Amarië decided not to mention the fisherman and his daughter just yet. She held out the bouquet instead. “You have a lovely garden.”

Elwing took the flowers, but frowned at the overgrown grounds about them. “Garden is far too generous a word,” she said. “But thank you.” Her bird-sharp grey eyes flicked upward, to the rainclouds growing heavier by the moment. “Come inside—I suppose you may as well stay until the storm passes.”

Inside, the lower levels were dark, the air unused and stale, though they were tidy and dust free. “I spend most of my time at the top,” Elwing said. She picked up a vase for the flowers, and then a lamp—Telerin-made, it lit up at her touch with the light of stars caught on a moonless night far out at sea. “I’m seldom down here. The stairs are this way.”

Amarië had visited the tower before—long ago, when Eärendil had still been alive and young. It had been little-lived in even then, with Elwing joining Eärendil on his voyages through the stars, but when they were at home, it had been cheerfully lit and comfortable. Now sheets covered the furniture, the windows covered, and the tapestries gone from the walls.

At the top of the tower, though, Elwing’s chambers were comfortable and lived-in, all the windows flung open to catch the sunshine and breeze off the sea. Elwing went around now to close them. Her birds had all left, except a few that apparently nested on the balcony. “Are you hungry?” she asked after a few minutes, once the last window was latched, and the rain began pattering against the glass.

“No.” Amarië hovered in the doorway.

“Thirsty? I have wine, I think.” Elwing went to a cabinet, but the bottles were empty. “Well, I have water.”

“Water is fine,” Amarië assured her, and they sat together near one of the widest windows. The sea and sky blurred together through the rain, the water turning the same color as the clouds. “The view must be beautiful in clear weather.”

“Yes, it is.” Elwing traced the rim of her cup with a pale fingertip.

“Why do you stay here alone? You have kin in Alqualondë.”

Elwing did not answer. Instead she asked, “Why did you come here, Amarië?”

“Because we were friends, once, and I missed you.” Amarië sipped her water. “Is that not enough?”

Elwing did not smile, but her face softened. “I suppose it is.” But she still did not answer Amarië’s question.

 _Until the storm passes_ became staying the night, and then another day, and another. Amarië waited for Elwing to ask her to leave, but though Elwing often spent hours away from the tower, soaring with her birds, she greeted Amarië upon her return with a sort of surprised pleasure. She still did not smile, but she did relax, if only a little.

It took some coaxing on Amarië’s part, but they started taking walks together as the weather grew warmer, mostly through the wooded hills nestled between the coast and the Pelori. Amarië spent these walks picking flowers—armfuls of daisies and Queen Míriel’s Lace; wild roses and bluebells, and white hawthorn and Lily of the Valley.

“Why do you call it Queen Míriel’s Lace?” Elwing asked one afternoon, perched on a chair watching Amarië arrange the flowers in vases, which she scattered throughout the upper rooms of the tower to fill them with the sweet perfume of spring.

“Surely you know who Queen Míriel is?” Amarië asked.

“Finwë’s first wife, yes? She died birthing Fëanor.”

“She faded afterward, really, but yes. Her chief fame, though, comes from her skill in needlework.” Amarië tucked a daisy carefully among some violets she’d picked from around the tower.

“Lace making?”

“All kinds, though I believe her great love was embroidery. But I’m sure she made lace, too. I rather suspect Finwë was the one to give the flower her name; I don’t know what they were called before then.” Amarië looked at Elwing. “What do you call it?”

Elwing’s lips twitched—the closest Amarië had seen her come to a smile. “Wild carrot.” Amarië laughed. “We ate them sometimes in Sirion, when I was a child and the crops were struggling.”

“Really?” Amarië held up one of the blossoms. “How do they taste?”

“Rather woody.”

That night it stormed, wind howling about the tower, lashing the rain against the windows. But dawn brought clear skies and a world washed clean and shining, and when Amarië emerged onto the balcony she found Elwing already there, her skirts and sleeves fluttering in the breeze as though already turned half to feathers. She turned at the sound of the door, face luminous in the pale morning light, her hair falling over her shoulders like soft shadows. “Amarië,” she said.

“Elwing.” Amarië’s breath caught.

She turned away again. A seagull circled the tower, crying out once, plaintively, before soaring out over the water. “You asked me once why I never visit Alqualondë.” She paused, but Amarië said nothing. “I did not answer because you cannot understand.”

“I can try,” Amarië said finally, and Elwing turned to face her again.

“How can you understand what it is to be caught between two peoples?” she asked, as plaintive as the gull. “You are Amarië of the Vanyar, of the Eldalië. I am Elwing of the Elves, and of the Edain—but at the same time not of either. And I am alone. There are no others.”

“Just because you are alone does not mean you must be lonely.”

“I would rather be lonely than endure anyone’s pity.”

“Pity from a gentle heart is not to be scorned, Elwing,” Amarië said. “But that is not why I came here.”

“Then why did you come?” It wasn’t a question so much as a challenge. Amarië hesitated, but only for the span of a breath. Then she stepped forward to catch Elwing’s face in her hands, fingers sliding into her silky hair as she kissed her. Elwing made a small, startled noise, but did not pull away. She clutched at Amarië instead, fingernails digging into her shoulders to pull her closer. She smelled of violets, but tasted like sea salt.

Amarië ended the kiss, realizing with a start just how close they were to the edge of the balcony. “Does that answer your question?” she asked.

Elwing laughed, a sound like nightingales singing, and kissed her again.


End file.
